Pizza, Post-its, and new beginnings
BY AINSLEY WILSON
“Honey, have you seen my keys?” I shouted up the stairs. I looked around our simple townhouse. It was in vain; my keys were nowhere in sight.
“Goddammit, why isn’t he responding to me,” I muttered to myself, “Stephen!”
A glint of metal peeked out at me from under the bookshelf next to the door. Aha! Found them. I squatted down to pick them up, and something in my hips snapped loudly. Some days I felt more like an old woman than barely thirty. Most days, actually. My hand brushed a piece of paper as my fingers located the keys. I couldn’t worry about it though; I was going to be late. I snatched the keys and reached for my coat hanging on the rack.
It was then I remembered that Stephen told me last night that he was leaving early for work today. I cringed at my forgetfulness. It was getting worse and worse these days.
I groaned to the empty air. I was much too young to be suffering from middle age.
I checked my watch, “Shit, I’m gonna be so late.”
Hurriedly, I grabbed my bag and rested my hand on the doorknob. I looked around the entryway briefly to make sure that I wasn’t missing anything. Everything looked like it normally did. I could only hope that meant that I had everything I needed for my presentation today. Putting my game face on, I stepped through the door and—
—I walk out onto the street and turn left. Normally, I turn right first, but today I turn left. The cracks in the sidewalk catch my attention. I’ve never noticed them before, but now I carefully avoid them. Don’t want to break my mother’s back…
As I walk up to the familiar house with its familiar turnip white shingles and its crooked door that never shuts properly and gives someone like me a headache, the pizza in my hands feels heavier than normal.
I knock once, harder than I intend to.
Shelby with Two Cats answers the door. She seems breathless today. Her cheeks are rosier than normal. Something’s off. She doesn’t start with her normal chitchat.
“Hi hun. Did you follow my instructions carefully?”
“Yes ma’am,” I reply.
“Good. Good,” she looks at her hand. Finding it empty, she pats her pockets. Pulling out a crinkled ten dollar bill, Shelby with Two Cats hands it to me, “Here you go, sweetie.”
Normally she’s talking nonstop about Mellow and Reggie by now. Today I don’t even see their tails peeking out from behind her legs. They must have gotten spooked by something.
“Have a nice day,” I say a nice day instead of a good day because she gives me five dollars more than yesterday.
“Oh, before you go,” she smiles with her full teeth. I can see her darkened gums for the first time. I wish I couldn’t see her darkened gums because now I’m wondering if she smokes. I really hope she doesn’t smoke, “Do you think it would be possible for me to buy that extra pizza off of you?” That’s a weird question. I am almost positive that she knows this pizza is going to her next-door neighbor.
“Someone else already bought this pizza.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But I mean, I would compensate you very well. And it would take no time at all to go back and have the restaurant make another one,” she pulls out another crinkled bill. I can’t make out the president, “No time at all.”
Her hand hangs in the air between us. I can finally make out Ulysses S. Grant’s face peeking out at me. Huh, I’ve never been bribed before.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. I can’t give you this pizza, but I can bring you another pizza in ten minutes if you want.”
Shelby with Two Cats’ eyes narrow into slits, “No, thank you.” Grant disappears back into her pocket.
“Sorry ma’am. Have a good day.”
She grabs my sleeve, “Wait,” she pulls out a pen from her seemingly unending pockets, “Do you think I could at least put a little note for my neighbor. Don’t try to fool me, I know this pizza is going to Beverly.” So she does know who this pizza is going to. Curious.
“Sure, ma’am. I don’t see any harm in that.” I do see harm. Shelby with Two Cats does not look pleased, and I don’t want to get in the middle of a neighborhood feud. But she’s my customer. I’m not supposed to say no to customers if I can avoid it.
“Good. Good.”
A perfectly dainty pastel pink post-it note joins the pizza in its cardboard prison.
I turn back the way I came and walk up to the next house, a perfect copy of Shelby with the Two Cat’s except for its perfectly aligned door.
Beverly who Loves to Garden opens the door. She pulls off her gardening gloves.
“Hi sweetie. Thanks so much for the pizza. You’re a gem, as always. Punctual and everything. Your mama must be so proud. You should take some flowers from my garden home to her,” she doesn’t even pause to take a breath, “Ooh, maybe some gardenias. Remember how I was telling you about my gardenias yesterday? I’m still not sure if they’re going to survive the winter. They don’t like the frigid air. I think I might have to move them inside. Sorry for chatting your ear off. You probably have places to be,” she delicately places her gloves over one wrist and looks up from her hands, “Your bag looks lighter than normal today, hon. No pizza for Shelby, huh?” she slides out a perfectly pressed ten dollar bill.
“Actually, I dropped off Shelby’s pizza first today. She requested it.”
Beverly who Loves to Garden freeze, “Did she now? An odd request. She specifically asked for that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“It’s just unusual is all. You’ve always delivered mine first. Just the way it’s always been.”
She reaches out to grab the pizza in a daze and wordlessly passes me my tip. It isn’t until I make it to the intersection of their houses that I realize Beverly who Loves to Garden has replaced the ten dollar bill with a five.
I pull out the pink post-it note that I slipped into my pocket at the same time that Beverly who Loves to Garden must have switched out the money.
In loopy handwriting, “FUCK YOU BEV” is written. I stuff the post-it note back into my pocket next to the fifteen dollars—a ten and a five. Just like normal and nothing like yesterday—
It was raining. I could feel it on my skin. It burned my tongue like acid when I tried to catch it in my mouth. It was red and bitter. It stained my hands like fire. Burning up my throat until I vomited. Burning up my mind until I could forget. Forget. Forget. Forget the stain between my legs. Forget the despair in the eyes that weren’t my own. Forget the half-faked funeral and the name the world didn’t get to know. Forget the burning relief—
The next day, I stare down the two identical requests:
Deliver my pizza first.
I hesitate at the intersection between Shelby with Two Cats’ house and Beverly who Loves to Garden’s house. I stare at the pizza. I turn right.
I knock twice. Beverly who Loves to Garden opens right away.
“Have you delivered Shelby’s pizza yet?” She’s wearing an apron today. There are no gardening gloves in sight. She always gardens right before lunch. She must be really frazzled by this thing with Shelby with Two Cats.
“No ma’am.”
“Good. That’s very kind of you. I appreciate that very much. Here’s a little something extra for being so diligent,” she hands me a twenty.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re very welcome, and actually if you don’t mind, could I write a little note for my neighbor, you know, Shelby?” She holds a pre-written note in her hand. It’s a standard yellow post-it note. The irony is not lost on me that Shelby with Two Cat’s tried the same thing yesterday.
“I don’t know ma’am.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal really. It’s just a gentle reminder. It’s no trouble for you, is it?”
“No ma’am.”
“Lovely, let me just stick this right in there.” She reaches for the pizza box with surprising agility, “You have a nice day now.” She closes the door before I respond.
I walk to Shelby with Two Cats’ house. The cracks in the sidewalk are now glaring. The pink post-it note sits heavy in my pocket from yesterday. I don’t meddle this time. I leave the yellow one in the pizza box. I don’t even bother to read it.
I knock twice on the door.
Shelby with Two Cats greets me with a smile. It fades when she sees I only have one pizza. She doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I delivered yours first yesterday. You both requested…”
“Of course.” She does not smile with her teeth today.
She doesn’t reach for the pizza. I hand it to her, and she finally takes it.
“I don’t have any extra change today. Sorry, hon.”
“I understand, ma’am. Good day.”
Shelby with Two Cats closes the door. I watch as she moves the pizza box to the kitchen, probably to the left of the door. The room is more for show than anything else anyway. She sets the cardboard box on the counter and almost doesn’t open it. But, of course, she’s hungry. Her late husband was a chef, so she never learned how to cook, never even wanted to attempt. She can’t fight the pull of her pizza ritual. Everyday, the same. One pizza after another. It fills up her trash. She’s never even bothered to order from any of the other menus she keeps in her second drawer. She opens the lid like she always does and stops. She extracts the post-it note. Her face scrunches up as she reads whatever ugly words her neighbor wrote. An orange tabby jumps onto the counter and sniffs at it before flipping his tail and strutting the other way. Shelby with Two Cats doesn’t eat the pizza today.
I stare at her crooked front door with the same imagined scene playing out in my head over and over, again and again.
The twenty dollar bill burns a hole through my pocket—
“My parents sat me down one day and explained that we weren’t biologically related but that they loved me very much. I didn’t understand why they had to say that part explicitly. ‘But we love you very much.’ Not, ‘and we love you very much.’ It never made any sense to me. It never made any sense to me until my best friend Kate had her baby last year. The baby was covered in blood and vernix; it could barely even keep its eyes open. And yet, the way she looked at that gross baby, I finally understood. You’re supposed to innately love your kid. It’s a biological response. My parents were telling me that they loved me even though I was supposed to be someone else’s biologically-can’t-help-but-love-this-gross-bundle-of-life. They loved me despite the blood that ran through my veins. Despite that it wasn’t theirs. I just don’t want to bring a child into this world unless we’re absolutely sure that we can love it like we’re supposed to.”
“I understand that, but I really think we should at least try—”
The next day, I don’t hesitate. I turn left. Not that it will matter today. But I went to Beverly who Loves to Garden’s house first yesterday, so it’s only fair.
I knock twice.
I’ve come prepared today.
It takes longer for Shelby with Two Cats to answer the door today. She doesn’t ask me if I’ve delivered her pizza first. She looks like she hasn’t slept. The color under her eyes is the same as her darkened smoker gums. Not that I see them today. Her lips remain a tight seal. I wish more than anything that I had taken out the post-it note yesterday.
I’ve put two extra boxes in my bag so they won’t be able to deduce one way or another. She takes the pizza and I take my leave.
Inside, I’ve placed a yellow post-it note to erase the one from yesterday. Or try, at least.
All I can do is try to clean up the mess I inadvertently made—
“How can I fix this?” He pleaded with me.
“You can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend anymore.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I think we should stop trying—”
—I walk to Beverly who Loves to Garden’s house.
I knock twice.
She opens with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The smell of burnt cookies escapes the house before disappearing into the breeze.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am” I say politely. She closes the door without another word.
Inside her pizza box, I’ve placed a pink post-it note. Identical to Shelby with Two Cats’ note—
I’m sorry
—The next day, they don’t order pizza. I leave pizzas on their welcome mats anyway. I don’t bother to knock. I just set it down and leave. When I stand between the intersection of their houses, as I’ve always done, I forget which way I had initially turned. For the first time, I notice the wear and tear of my shoes. The big toe of my right shoe has a hole in it. On my left shoe, there are splatters of mud. I can’t remember the last time I bought new shoes. As I walk away from their houses, I pull out the original “FUCK YOU BEV” post-it note. The pastel pink has faded in my pocket. The words have smudged a little. I brush off a piece of lint that desperately clings to it. I litter the note into the wind. It drifts in the air for half a millisecond before falling to the ground. No wind today, I guess. I consider leaving it there, but littering feels wrong after everything I’ve already done. Instead I grab a pencil from my pizza bag. Picking up the post-it note, I carefully cross out the words. Underneath, I write “Buy Shoes.”
I’ve left them one last post-it note. One for Beverly who Loves to Garden. One for Shelby with Two Cats.
I hope your gardenies make it through the winter. And
I’m gonna miss Mellow and Reggie.
The next day, I quit—
—I realized I never stepped through the door at all. The doorknob had shocked me. I was still standing in the entryway with my hand pulled away in surprise. My fingers burned. My keys hung limp in my other hand. I checked my watch again, not even a minute had passed since I last checked it, but it felt like so much longer.
Somehow, I had gotten to thinking about my job in high school. How long had I been thinking about that? The memory unsettled me for some reason.
I felt dizzy, almost like I had been upside down for too long. I was scared to touch the doorknob again after how weird it had made me feel. I didn’t want it to shock me again. It was no longer important that I was going to be late. I made a mental note to text my boss to push my presentation to the afternoon.
I walked back over to the bookshelf and squatted down. This time, my movements were slow and unhurried. I carefully extracted the paper I had brushed by earlier. My heart froze in my chest as I turned it over. It was a grainy photo from my six week appointment all those years ago.
It was barely anything more than a black dot, but it felt like so much more.
I pressed a hand to my hollow stomach. For the first time, the motion didn’t scare me.
I dropped my bag and walked to the kitchen, pulling a post-it note out from one of the drawers. I smiled as I wrote on the tiny square of paper.
For the second time that morning, I gathered up my things for work. This time, as I touched the doorknob, it didn’t shock me. I stepped through the door.
I’m ready.